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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27774961">the escapades held in dreamscape</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlyproserpine/pseuds/deadlyproserpine'>deadlyproserpine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>--- accidentally, Angst, Anxiety, Best Friends, Depression, Dialogue Heavy, Dirty Talk, Dream is sad more often then not, Dreams and Nightmares, Drinking, Drunk Texting, Drunken Flirting, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotionally Distant Dream, Escapism, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Feelings Realization, First Meetings, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Insomnia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Minecraft, Mutual Masturbation, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phone Sex, Pining, Poverty, Self-Esteem Issues, Sensitive GeorgeNotFound, Sharing a Bed, Suggestive Themes, Unrequited Love, Wet Dream, dream is so soft, oneshots, sapnap is a treasure, when im up for it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:48:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27774961</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlyproserpine/pseuds/deadlyproserpine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of dreamnotfound oneshots, some short and some of somewhat length.</p><p>A series of pointless drabbles.</p><p>A series of plotless messes all comprised of confessions, tears, grief, warmth, anguish, kisses, and earnst idiots.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>99</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. call ended</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hiii, thanks for hitting whatever the hell this is!</p><p>Basically these are just little things I make up on the fly that I don't necessarily have the mental capacity to make into full fics or well thought out and complete oneshots. If you please, you are fully welcome to use these as prompts for fics (i just please ask for you to talk to me me first :D) I just recently allowed for myself to dive headfirst into this fandom and this ship, so pleeaase go easy on me. </p><p>Also, these aren't beta read, they are hardly polished. They will be choppy and raw with very minimal editing or refining. Whoops.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>If you don't mind, I'll walk that line<br/>Stuck on the bridge between us<br/>Gray areas and expectations<br/>But I'm not the one if we're honest</p>
  <p>          - talk me down, Troye Sivan</p>
</blockquote><p>  </p><p> </p><p>“Dream?” Came George’s voice, chopped and marred through the speakers of Clay’s headphones, beeping distantly from low battery. </p><p>He opened his eyes to bleury colors of lilac and pink, orange and indigo. He must’ve fallen asleep. Sitting up from where he reclined his chair, he adjusted the cuffs of his headset against his sweaty and cold skin before clearing his throat. He pretended he didn’t hear the breath of relief exhale from his English best friend. “Sorry, I passed out.” </p><p>The beats of silence was enough to bring on waves of anxiety to whip through Clay’s limbs and strike his chest. Finally Sapnap let out a scoff. “D<em>u</em>de, you need to work on your sleeping habits. This is getting out of control.” </p><p>“I-” At George’s sudden pipe, all green borders lit to die out. Clay and Sap both remained silent. “Nevermind,” he finally finished in that <em> damned</em>, small tone that single-handedly caused for something vile and disgusting to crawl itself up Clay’s esophagus. </p><p>“No,” he felt tumble past his lips. </p><p>“Huh?” So sweet and confused. Clay’s eyebrows scrunched together, his mouth screwed shut. “Dream…”</p><p>
  <em> Shit.  </em>
</p><p>George began to speak again, but all the words were warbled and alien as Clay’s ears tried their hardest to comprehend but just <em> couldn’t </em>. “Dream, what do you mean-”</p><p>He slammed his finger down to click on the end call button, the sound of him leaving the voice chat ringing around his head over and over again. Clay tore the headset from about his ears in hopes that the sound would fucking <em> quit</em>. Alas, the expensive piece of technology just hit his wall to fall upon the floor in a sound he should care about more than he does right now. </p><p>What is <em> wrong </em>with him? </p><p>It was such an overreaction he can’t even process what he’s just done. His brain feels all murky and his thoughts unreachable. He’s said so much worse to George, he has implied things that have never happened just to see the downpour of chat on his friend’s stream or the slight shift in his facial features. All things of which he says in complete honesty behind a facade of lightheartedness. </p><p>He’s vocalized his disdain towards George’s stubborn hold on the idea that he isn’t someone worthy of listening to or appreciating. He doesn’t understand how this instance is so earth shattering to him. </p><p>Was it the worry?</p><p>The taste of the dream taking over his consciousness right before George’s voice grabbed his collar and ripped him from the liquid mercury that was slowly becoming his mind?</p><p>Sighing, Clay leaned back in his chair, head craning back to stare at the washed out stucco of the ceiling. It was night now, the room casted over in a deep, rich blue. </p><p>He’s so tired. </p><p>This was the third time he has passed out in the middle of a call. All he ever wants is to close his eyes, just for a few minutes. </p><p>He never wants to fall asleep, not during the only time he ever wants to be awake. </p><p>In the midst of the dizzying maze which is his thoughts, his phone vibrated against the top of his desk, humming across the cheap material. </p><p>He felt it take over him in a cold sweat coating thinly on pale, peached skin. His fingers were trembling just slightly as he crooked his fingers and flipped it in his palm. Eyes immediately soaking up the contact name and I.D., Clay melted slightly into his chair with a groan. </p><p>He always seems to get himself into these situations. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Gogy</b>
</p><p>Youre not getting away with this dream!!!!!!!!</p><p> </p><p>Clay felt a wobbly and painful smile stretch along his chapped lips, cracking and pulling at the poor skin. His hand, overtaken by weakness, fell on his thigh. </p><p>He just needed a moment, a small and miniscule moment for him to breathe.</p><p>He lifted his phone half-ass up to his face to type out with shaking thumbs. <em> I think I will </em></p><p>Before his eyes he watched as the delivered changed swiftly to: <em> Read 9:12 PM </em></p><p>The typing bubble popped up and down, then again before the sound of the arrival of a new message lurched in Clay’s chest. </p><p>
  <em> No. I won’t let you :p </em>
</p><p>Clay’s fingers moved on their own, selecting the characters fast and sending before he had any moment to dwell on it. <em> Cute. You’re so fucking cute, George</em></p><p>He watched with a thundering heart as his message delivered, his eyes reading it over and over again to frantically swipe out of his messages when the sight of the delivered morphed to read. </p><p>He watched as the drop down notification took up a small percentage of his home screen. </p><p>He let the words dance around his head as he numbly pushed himself out of his chair and collapsed in an unmade, unruly bed with cold sheets. He still couldn’t see straight as he plugged in his phone and slowly rolled onto his side. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Gogy</b>
</p><p>I bet youre cuter</p><p>No</p><p>I k n o w youre cuter</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Clay woke up with his cheeks still hurting. </p><p>He doesn’t understand why this is affecting him so badly. He receives compliments and praises daily, from fans and friends, from George. </p><p>There’s just something perched on his shoulder whispering in his ear that this is different. </p><p>He feels like George isn’t playing around. It’s the same feeling that would sit heavy at the bottom of his guts when the brunette would praise his speedruns or congratulate him on milestones and wins. It was the same feeling he’d get whenever George gave him attention that was all for him, only for him. </p><p>Clay forced himself to sit up in his bed with a groaned, “shit.” </p><p>He looked over at where he tossed his phone onto his nightstand for a good few moments for reaching for it. The sight of George’s message wasn’t completely buried under the other notifications he received since. It was still there, taunting him to open. </p><p>The things he could say in response. </p><p>He felt the corner of his mouth quirk as he unlocked his phone and brought up the view of his and George’s messages. </p><p>His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a few minutes before they drummed a quick reply. <em> Now how could you possibly know that? </em></p><p><br/>The reply came fast. <em> Huh? </em></p><p>Faking stupid. Clay rolled his eyes with a smile that began to hurt. <em> You don’t know what I look like, dummy </em></p><p>When the status didn’t change in thirty seconds, Clay finally willed himself out of his now hot and uncomfortable bedding. He felt Patches weaving in and out of his ankles before he saw her. He let out a tsk before swooping up the endearing feline into his arms. </p><p>She placed a cold and soft paw against his cheek, green eyes flitting across his face before falling on something beyond his shoulder. </p><p>He moved so he caught her gaze, nudging her nose with his own. “What do you want, hmm?”</p><p>She let out a chirp and Clay promptly set her back on her feet. “Fatass,” he sighed and stepped over her knowing that stupidly cute noise meant food. </p><p>He quickly descended the short flight of stairs, feet landing on the cold tile of the entryway. He took a tight right turn into the kitchen, Patches running in front of him to sit by the cabinet which holds her food hostage. He looked at the time to see it just turn. <em> 11 o’clock</em>. </p><p>It’s barely even morning anymore. </p><p>Running a hand through his hair, Clay gently scooted Patches with his foot to grab the bag and fill the bowl. He straightened up and looked around his kitchen disdainfully. </p><p>He hasn’t had an appetite in days. </p><p>Maybe that’s the issue. The lack of eating and sleeping; it’s like playing Russian roulette with his health. He looked down at where Patches happily ate her dry food, cracking the bits between sharp teeth, thinking, <em> why does self-destruction have to feel so nice sometimes </em>?</p><p>He tore off a banana with no real thought before running up the stairs two at time. He closed his door to where there was a sliver of room for Patches to worm her way through before snatching his phone, a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, and throwing himself into his chair. He snapped the banana and began to peel it. </p><p>Taking a bite, Clay kicked up his long legs onto his desk, narrowly missing his monitor. Spare hand opening his phone, he was welcomed with the sight of a new message from George, three minutes ago.</p><p><em> I don’t need to,</em> it says.</p><p>Clay blinked at it, his foot twitching slightly. <em> Bullshit, Gogy</em></p><p>He was in the middle of typing again, to lighten that statement when he was interrupted by George calling him. Setting down the half eaten fruit, he didn’t hesitate before swiftly hooking up his (still fully working) headset and accepting the call. </p><p>He tossed the device onto his desk as the line clicked. “Hello,” came George’s voice in a nice rush to tingle down the expanse of Clay’s spine, relaxing almost every single one of his muscles in one simple, two syllable word. </p><p>Clay felt a soft breath exhale from his nose. “Hi.” </p><p>He heard George’s lips pull apart with a smack, but he didn’t say anything for the longest time. Clay found himself holding his breath. Then he grew impatient. “Why did you call?”</p><p>“Oh, um-” </p><p>“Not that I mind talking to you, baby,” Clay rushed to add in a velvet, sing-song voice. </p><p>George let out a sharp scoff, Clay can see him rolling his eyes vividly. “Shut <em> up</em>. I didn’t feel like texting. A lot of work.” </p><p>The laugh that tumbled from Clay’s mouth was high pitched and bubbly. “Lazy.” </p><p>“Yeah, and?”</p><p>“Just tell me why you called me. It must be important because you interrupted what I was going to say.”</p><p>The chuckle pulled his heart strings taut. “Oh, I bet it was something remarkable.” </p><p>“Damn straight.” </p><p>“Pft, whatever.” There was a brief pause, just George’s breathing. “If it was reversed and I was the one behind the mask, would it still be bullshit?” George finished in a murmur. </p><p>“I-” </p><p>“Like would you still call me cute if you didn’t know what I looked like?” </p><p>Clay’s head was thoughtless as he ran purely on instinct. There wasn’t an ounce, a fucking <em> shred </em>of hesitancy as he said, “no- of course, yes.” </p><p>“Dream-” </p><p>“No. I- I always thought you were cute. I will always think you’re cute.” By the end, the volume of Clay’s words declined into a breathless whisper. He felt his eyes flutter, eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. His mouth parted once again without his permission, like it usually does. “You’re perfect, George.”</p><p>The noise that he gently plucked from the pretty boy’s throat on the other line, a noise of surprise and elation, played folly with his heart. </p><p>“Be quiet,” George said quietly, prettily. </p><p>“Make me.”</p><p>“How would I do that?” </p><p>“Guess.” </p><p>“Gross.” Click. </p><p>Clay’s eyes drifted towards where his phone lit up, the blinking <em> call ended </em>putting him in a trance. </p><p>Blinking himself back to reality, he tapped himself back to his home screen. Swiping down his notifications, he was immediately brought to a recent one from discord. </p><p>Karl and Sapnap were demanding him to join the server. He didn’t feel inclined to go until he looked down a little further to see George saying he’ll be there too.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. alter ego</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dream is withering away</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Daylight, I dream of you softly</p>
  <p>I wrote you a letter that will never reach you</p>
  <p>In Montreal, the days are much colder there</p>
  <p>Now you grow older there, without me</p>
  <p>On the lookout, baby won't you look out?</p>
  <p>A car full of raccoons, I think that I'm crazy</p>
  <p>-Angela, Flower Face</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dream.</p><p>Clay. </p><p>Dream. </p><p>Clay. </p><p>Dream.</p><p>Clay.</p><p>Dreamclaydreamclaydreamclaydreamclaydreamclay.</p><p>The person in the fogged mirror looked, not unfamiliar, but not himself. An imposter, a husk impersonating him in the reflective surfaces of mirrors, windows, his PC monitors, in photos. </p><p>He wanted to beat the ever living shit out of whoever it is. </p><p>In a moment of weakness and lightheadedness, he opened up to Sapnap about it. His friend simply told him to get some sleep and logged off. </p><p>Clay didn’t sleep that night, not until he crashed about noon when he promised George he’d log onto the server. </p><p>Which reminds him he still needs to apologize for that, really ruined the whole mood for his stream. He knows he’ll forget, so scatterbrained and half-dead. </p><p>His nights more often than not were consumed by blue light and scrolling; scrolling through twitter, instagram, tik tok, old messages. Sometimes if he was lucky, before the time reached around two am he’d catch someone staying up late on the server or in discord. Sometimes Sapnap or even George would stay up editing or planning out videos, but ‘sometimes’ was never enough. </p><p>Although he’ll never utter it to a living, breathing human, Clay hates being alone more than anything. </p><p>He hates how it creeps up his back and wraps around the plane of shoulders, growing tighter and tighter as his thoughts continue to descend into places he’s too afraid to visit when the sun rises, a pastel yellow to stain his white walls and reflect off dancing dust. Even if he never actually closed his eyes, the first realization of the sun shining through his drawn blinds feels like he just woke up. </p><p>He can feel it in the smell and the air, how it’s just chilly enough to be comfortable, the Florida humidity lifting for a single graceful hour. </p><p>The feeling of waking up without sleeping, at first, was addictive. He loved the emptiness, the low ache to settle in his underbelly, the slight head high. He loved the feeling of drinking an energy drink when he hasn’t eaten in probably a full day, drinking anything on an empty stomach actually. The only way he can describe the feeling is water dripping into a dried up well. </p><p>It makes you feel cold, weightless. Your mind goes away for a bit and your eyes blur out, washing the world in a pretty blur. </p><p>Nothing really matters in these moments, at this hour. </p><p>It’s just him and the birds, his blue hands and screaming organs. </p><p>But it always passes and he’ll take in a large, sudden deep breath. Then suddenly he’s aware of the shallow, half-conscious breaths his lungs were pumping in and out. His eyes will snap open and the filter will disappear just like that, leaving behind a muted and disgusting color palette. His mind clears, still impossibly heavy but clear. Everything will slowly begin to hurt, the pain flaring with each stunted full breath.</p><p>Clay did a slow blink at his ceiling before throwing off his sheets with a weak, leaden arm. He sat up with a series of cracks and groans, falling pathetically forward with his hands on his knees. His vision whirled and spun around him in grays and soft pinks and yellows. He felt the stale, flat monster he just sipped from moments ago climb back up his throat in a searing burn.</p><p>He just needed to ground himself and the spinning will stop, it will all stop and he’ll be able to breathe again.</p><p>He focuses on the cold air of the morning coming in through his opened window. He listens to the way the slight breeze rattled his blinds. There were geese honking overhead, encouraging each other in their last few miles before settling for winter. Birds singing outside his window. Patches curled up at the foot of his bed, stomach rising and falling in soft puffs. </p><p>The laminate under his feet was cold and smooth. He could feel a pestering speck of dirt under his big toe. </p><p>The sound of a notification had Clay shooting up in his position, the dizzy spell dissipated just enough to where he didn’t black out. He grabbed his phone, blinking his eyes to focus on the array of messages and other ignored nonsense he didn’t have energy to look at overnight. </p><p>Only one out of the dozen was new. Only one was worthwhile. </p><p>Clay opened discord. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>George</b>
</p><p>hey dream :}</p><p> </p><p>He cursed the immediate smile that pulled on chapped, dry lips as he drummed his reply. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dream Boat</b>
</p><p>What’s up?</p><p> </p><p>The animation to alert him of George’s typing was instant. Message after message sent before Clay could read them. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>George</b>
</p><p>did you sleep well?</p><p>that’s a stupid question nevermind</p><p>you never sleep good even if you say you did</p><p>so</p><p>anyway</p><p>do you want to help me with a video??</p><p> </p><p>Clay’s eyebrows drew together as he read the word like vomit spewing down his screen. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dream Boat</b>
</p><p>I slept fine, George</p><p>Fuck off</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>George</b>
</p><p>what’s that smell? </p><p>sniff sniff</p><p>bullshit?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dream Boat</b>
</p><p>you are not funny</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>George</b>
</p><p>then why are you smiling dumbass</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dream Boat</b>
</p><p>How could you possibly know if I’m smiling or not you little psychopath?</p><p>Are you watching me?</p><p> </p><p><em> George is typing… </em> appeared and disappeared for a straight minute. Clay didn’t know what exactly he was expecting the dumb brit to send but it isn’t what he got. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>George</b>
</p><p>i just know okay</p><p>Are you?</p><p>or um were you?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dream Boat</b>
</p><p>Why?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>George </b>
</p><p>Idk</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dream Boat</b>
</p><p>You do know</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>George</b>
</p><p>No </p><p>I don’t</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dream Boat</b>
</p><p>You’re playing coy again</p><p> </p><p>George didn’t reply for several moments, so Clay began typing again. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dream Boat</b>
</p><p>But if it matters</p><p>I was</p><p> </p><p>Typing, not typing, offline, online, typing…</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>George</b>
</p><p>it means everything</p><p>now</p><p>my video, the reason why I wanted to talk to you in the first place</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dream Boat</b>
</p><p>To use and abuse my brilliance?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>George</b>
</p><p>of course!</p><p>OH wake up sap, I must use him as well</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Clay can’t really say when the shift came about. One minute he was talkative and loud, being his usually cocky self and harassing George, but like a train put on the brakes, everything came to a sudden, dead stop. </p><p>He was currently sat, watching as Bad and Quackity bicker, running around and yelling. He doesn’t really know what they’re saying, his hearing coming in and out as his mind blurs then focuses. He could faintly pick out the sound of Karl making fun of his friend and taking Bad’s side just to mess with him. </p><p>Clay wishes he could smile at it, it really is cute. He wishes he could just enjoy this before it loses it’s magic like everything else does. Everything sprouts, flourishes and blooms, to die. He wants to enjoy what he’s created when it’s at it’s best. </p><p>He would give anything to feel alive right now, to feel like he was in control of his life.</p><p>He barely reacted when someone laid a hit on his back. He only sat still in his chair as his unarmored character was knocked forward from the blow. The depletion of half his hearts blinked at him for a few beats. </p><p>He turned around slowly to the sight of Tommy. He quickly hid the enchanted diamond sword. Clay was surprised that Tubbo wasn’t somewhere near him, he was online. </p><p>No one spoke for a while. Even Quackity and Bad went silent, waiting. </p><p>Clay’s hand was shaking around the mouse. He needs to eat. </p><p>“Dream,” Tommy said slowly, his usual loud and obnoxiously adorable teenage voice mellowed into something low and pleasant.</p><p>Clay hummed, scared why he’s getting this TommyInnit. This TommyInnit scares him. “Yes, Tom-Tom?” </p><p>“Tom-Tom?”</p><p>He heard George let out a snicker before the sound of him muting himself. Clay smirked. “Tom-Tom.” </p><p>“Whatever. You’ve been quiet, I’m wondering if you’re doing okay.” </p><p>
  <em> Why do you care? I just get you views, Tommy. </em>
</p><p>Clay shrugged with a long sigh through his nose. He reclined slightly back in his chair, it creaked. “Tired-” </p><p>“He’s always tired,” George butted in, not being able to help himself any longer. Clay saw him crouched down a little below the slight hill he was standing on in front of the pond. </p><p>Clay rolled his eyes and flicked across his toolbar until his netherite axe was equipped. “Go away, Georgie.” </p><p>“Fine. But I will because <em> I </em>want to.” </p><p>“Sure, simp.” </p><p>The sound of George leaving the call reverberated his headphones for a minute. Clay sat in it for a while before opening his mouth. “I’m just tired.” </p><p>Tommy’s avatar looked at him for a few dreaded breaths before he went through his toolbar, different items appearing in his hand before he settled on a picaxe. Clay watched as it glamored and glowed. “I still need to finish my netherite set, you wanna come help?” </p><p>“Um-” </p><p>“Or would you rather sit around and watch those idiots run around all day?” Tommy finished, the endearment and annoyance causing a weird tone in the blonde’s voice. </p><p>“We can hear you, you fucker!” Quackity yelled, quickly followed by a stern: “Language.”</p><p>Clay looked over where Quackity was building what looks like a pink wool penis while Bad desperately tried to break it apart. He turned 180 degrees and started towards the portals. Tommy’s laugh followed him the whole way there. </p><p>They didn't have too much luck finding the ancient debris, but Clay is just realizing he hasn’t spent one on one time with Tommy, no streaming or recording, probably ever. </p><p>He wouldn’t have pegged him to be naturally quiet. </p><p>“Hey, Tommy,” he called out as he broke his five-hundreth block of fucking netherrack. </p><p>“Yeah, Big D?” </p><p>Clay inwardly snorts at the nickname, like always. “We should do this more often.” </p><p> </p><p>Silence, the sound of a block breaking. “Fuck yeah.” Clay laughed and they both fell back into their previous silence, just the sounds of the nether and the peaceful music. Until, “you know, Dream, I’m an impartial party.” </p><p>“What the hell are you getting at now?” He laughed. </p><p>Tommy snickered. “I dunno. Things probably get a little messy in the Dream Team right? Things never work in threes.” </p><p>Clay felt his smile fall, felt his concentration on the game falter as his hand slipped from the keys. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it does. It really does. The issue, however, isn’t in George or Sapnap. It’s him. It’s always fucking <em> Dream</em>. </p><p>With the clear of his throat, he straightened back up in his chair and began mining again. “Is that why you only play regularly with Tubbo? Because things don’t work in threes.”</p><p>“Nah,” Tommy said, the shrug audible in his voice. “If someone else came along, then so be it.”</p><p>Clay nodded and stopped his mining. The sight of all the red blocks was starting to severely irritate him. </p><p>
  <em> I’m an impartial party </em>
</p><p>Clay sighed lightly. “There wasn’t <em> always </em>three of us, you know.” </p><p>He debated in the stretch of silence of whether or not to keep going, to keep saying things that have been plaguing his head for a while. He soon realized that whatever he says here won’t go far beyond Tommy ears, <em> maybe </em>Tubbo’s as well. He realized that, weirdly, there’s something trustworthy about the blonde. “Sometimes I wish it wasn’t the three of us.”</p><p>He heard the echo of breaking blocks stop. The fan in Tommy’s room was whirling. Clay wasn’t breathing. </p><p>“Why’s that?” Tommy finally asked, softly. </p><p>“It was easier.”</p><p>“How so, Dream?”</p><p>“George- he complicates things.”</p><p>“How so?” Tommy repeated. </p><p>“He just does.”</p><p>Clay counted up to twenty-three seconds before Tommy finally spoke. “I get it, Big D.”</p><p>“I-“</p><p>“Stop. It’s okay, I-I get it.”</p><p>They both fell once again in a bout of silence for about five minutes before it was shattered. “Ah, <em> fucking hell </em>!” Tommy suddenly yelled, causing Clay to jump a mile out of his chair. </p><p>“Wha- what’s going on?” </p><p>“I accidentally hit a fucking pigman. We gotta go Dream, we gotta go righ- Fuck right <em> off </em>you gross shit!” </p><p>Clay immediately turned around and began navigating out of the mine. “Cool it or MotherInnit will have your <em> ass </em>, Tommy.” </p><p>“Mhm,” was all he hummed into his mic, much too focused on trying not to get brutally massacred by the pigmen. </p><p>Clay felt a little lighter as he followed behind Tommy where he was running at the head of a swarm of pink and green.</p><p><br/>But there is just something missing. Doing this with Tommy was nice, yeah of course. But there was just something <em> gone </em>. </p><p>As soon as Clay broke through the portal and entered team speak and the sound of George’s full and bright, stupidly cute laughter cut through the speakers of his headset, it all pieced together. </p><p>That’s what was missing. </p><p>It always lands back on George, doesn’t it. </p><p>Maybe when he says he wishes it was just him and Sapnap again, he means to to go back. To erase these past years of cold and lonely hell, go back to when things were still bright and excited. </p><p>He thinks if George was whisked away now-</p><p>Clay didn’t realize he was dead at the entrance of the portal until George’s cute avatar was bounding towards him, chanting, “Dream, Dream, Dream, Dream.” Finally landing at his eye, Clay would have killed to see how beautiful his smile looks right in this instant. “Hi, Dream.” </p><p>He should pull up his stream. He wants to see him so badly.</p><p>Clearing his throat, Clay hoped and prayed the honey-tinted, pestering fondness stayed clear from his voice. “Hi, George.” What he hoped was his normal, light tone came out tense and angry. </p><p>It wasn’t visible to him, but he watched as George faltered. “Are you okay? Did Tommy bother you?” </p><p>“No.” </p><p>“Oh. Do you need to talk about… anything? Like, I know I’m not the best at this sort of stuff but we are-” </p><p>“Yeah,” he cut him off. There was this pressure building on his chest, a fire expanding like an hearth in his ribcage. “I know, just-“ Black was dotting his vision. He didn’t know how bad it was getting until he couldn’t keep his head up, when he opened his mouth and all that came out was babble.</p><p>It wasn’t long before he was swept up and everything went a nice nothing, a pure black. <br/><br/><br/></p><p> </p><p>The sound of the heavy bang, like a bag of flour was dropped on a table, played ring-around-the-rosie about George’s head. The high and buzzing frequency was piercing and painful. </p><p>Dream’s name still partially hung off his tongue, abruptly cut off from whatever happened on the other’s end. </p><p>“Dream?” He called out again. The chat was pouring down his right monitor, donos coming in. George couldn’t read the text, could barely hear the text-to-speech. </p><p>Dream wasn’t answering. </p><p>All of his friends characters were stood still. The minecraft music softly played through his headphones, taunting him. </p><p>In a panicked breath, he ended the stream. <br/><br/></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It couldn’t have been more than five minutes when Clay’s eyes barely pushed themselves open. There was a persistent, agonizing pounding  at his right temple that caused for splotches of color to dot his vision. He picked up his head, realizing he was strewn on the floor. His headphones were next to him. He could hear yelling. </p><p>He pinched them and barely got them onto his desk. He had to position himself on all fours, one limb at time before he was able to get onto his feet. The swift movement causing for his head to spin, almost causing for him to fumble to the floor once again. </p><p>Before he lost his footing, he fell back into his chair. </p><p>His hands were shaking so badly he could hardly put his headset on. </p><p>The vomit has it bubbled and climbed is throat was searing, agonizing, but he couldn’t move. </p><p>He couldn’t do a single thing while his world seemed to fall apart, piece by piece and crumb by crumb. </p><p>The voice channel was complete pandemonium of people calling out his name, messages pouring down the chat, all the while the server stood stock still like no one could move. </p><p>Clay briefly wondered, a thought at the back of his mind, how many people were streaming, how many people were there to witness <em> the </em>Dream faint. </p><p>It wasn’t until he heard quick and panicked breaths, muttering nuances jumbling his brain and jarring him to a halt. He opened his mouth, “George, I-” </p><p>All noise stopped completely, finally matching the ghostly sight of the server. </p><p>George opened his mouth, a shaky breath breaking on his mic. “We all ended our streams.” </p><p>“I-” </p><p>“So you’re going to <em> tell us</em>,” <em> no</em>, “what the fuck just happened, Dream.” </p><p>No. no. He- he can’t. He doesn’t know how. He doesn’t even know what’s happening right now, he probably wants to know just as bad as everyone else. </p><p>Bolts of cold sweat were moving up and down his limbs but he can’t move, he can’t do anything. </p><p>“Dream, buddy,” came the voice of Sapnap. The waver had something cold well in Clay’s eyes and careen down the already chilled and rough hollow of his cheeks. “I love you, just- tell me what’s going on.” </p><p>He wasn’t seeing straight as he barely breathed out a pathetic ejaculation of poorly constructed words, “I don’t know.” The waver of his throat fighting stomach acid and emotions made the few words almost incomprehensible. </p><p>Shadows were dancing on his walls. </p><p>There was a touch at his back, making his skin jump. </p><p>He’s going crazy. He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He wants it all to end. </p><p>“Dream-” Sapnap began but was abruptly interrupted by a harsh, serrated scream. All characters shifted towards where George’s avatar still stood before the stoic one of Dream’s. </p><p>Before George could say anything, Clay left the server. He was just about to leave the call when the scream broke into sobs and wails. It was dead silent around George. “I ha-a-ate him,” he barely choked out. </p><p>“N-No, you don’t-” </p><p>“I do, Nick! I hate that stupid, dumb motherfucker with my entire being. He’s killing himself and what are we supposed to do? He could have a concussion, he could have brain damage from all that he’s done to himself and what am <em> I </em> to <em> do</em>, Sapnap?” </p><p>“Nothing.” </p><p>Clay left the channel with a sound. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>After taking a nap, Clay thoughtlessly tapped his way to twitter.</p><p>It wasn’t a shock he was trending. “Dream Faint” in big bold letters, trending globally. </p><p>Before thinking about it he tapped it. </p><p>Clips of George’s stream greeted him, all the tweets and captions blurring in puddles of blue and black. </p><p>He didn’t want to watch the clips, he didn’t want to read the tweets. </p><p>He doesn’t think it will be good for him. </p><p>But he found himself enlarging one and pressing play anyways. </p><p>He was immediately brought to the POV of George, smiling so bright as he sees Clay appear out of the portal. The smile was so large and gorgeous as he began to bound towards him, chanting his name over and over again. Clay doesn’t know how, but the grin seems to get bigger with each block closer he is. </p><p>He found himself holding his breath, waiting, trying desperately to keep his eyes open. What was only seconds of conversation then, feels like minutes now.</p><p>But with the sound of his own warbled and marred speech, Clay couldn’t close his eyes even if he wanted to. They were trained on George, as what has just happened dawned on him. “Dre-” </p><p>A sharp bang and a motherlode of frequency took over all sound. </p><p>He could hear people asking what happened, but George didn’t look like he was hearing any of it. His mouth dropped open, eyes wide and scared before they erupted and he was yelling, screaming, “Dream, <em> Dream! </em> Oh, my god, oh, my <em> god </em>.” </p><p>“George, what-” Quackity said in a cracked whisper but the brunette didn’t pay him any head. </p><p>“He- Clay, he- he hit his head! He- fainted?” </p><p>Tears, bright and crystalline made rivers down pretty cheeks and Clay swiped out of the video. </p><p>Another drop down of a dm took up a portion of his screen, he didn’t even see the who it was from before swiping it away. </p><p>But as his screen was fully taken over, a contact I.D. he’s been ignoring for months lodging a knife into his heart, this wasn’t just something Clay could swipe away. </p><p>He brought his phone to his ear with a broken breath. “Hi, mom.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>just an easy-going one to kick things off with. Don't be shy to leave your thoughts in the comments, they honestly mean everything to me (im also very nervous about this ahaha 😅)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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